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He glanced down to his chest. A day didn’t go by where he didn’t wear it when he was patrolling. The same could be said about when he was deployed. It was hot as hell but served a purpose.
“Protection, you know that.” He smirked. “Kinda how I got my nickname.”
“Right, and we used to give you shit for it.” Hawk tipped up his sunglasses, the sun momentarily beneath a cloud. “But we don’t anymore, do we?”
“No.”
“How long has Nikita been an FBI agent?”
“I don’t know. Since she graduated college, I think.”
“And do you think her boss worries about her every time she tracks down scumbags?”
Kevlar faced forward again, already knowing where the conversation was headed. “No. She’s a trained operative who can handle her own.”
“I bet when she started, her boss used to, though. I’ll bet you fifty bucks they had a pool going on about whether or not the pretty Latino chick would make it a year without cracking.” Hawk pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one. “Just like the pool we had about you.”
Kevlar whipped his eyes to him. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” He grinned. “I won too.”
“Great, what’s your point?”
Hawk offered him the pack. “My point is Nikita doesn’t need you to save her. She can save herself.” He jutted his chin toward the four-story building. “Yeah, she needed you the other night, but I’m damned sure she’ll never drink on the job again unless she pours the glass herself.”
Waving aside the cigarette, he nodded once. His brother was right. Kita had lasted years in the FBI doing the same shit and never needed him to save the day. She’d probably been in just as many close scrapes as the one with the Cutthroats. He’d trust her. It was his only option.
“You’re smarter than everyone thinks, you know that?”
Hawk offered him a crooked smile. “Yep, sure do.”
Chapter Eighteen
Nikita
The Cutthroat dollhousewas set up like a pyramid. The dolls were kept on floors two through four. The first floor was set aside for MC parties, where all dolls attended. It also served as a gateway for visitors. The Cutthroats advocated prostitution, taking a portion of any earnings off the top and gave just enough to the dolls to keep them sated.
Nikita and Mandi easily skirted a group of Cutthroats. The last thing they needed was noisy bikers chattering at them. Finding the back staircase, Nikita took the lead. Her handgun safely stowed in the small of her back gave little reassurance. If they were caught and questioned, her mag would do absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of the operation. Still, she felt naked without it.
Attaining the second floor, they peeked through the porthole window. New dolls stayed on this floor. They were the cheapest too. The rankings and prices went up with each floor. The best of the best girls were at the top, and that’s where they were headed. Juliet was the best—according to the club—and they needed to see how much information had already been lost to the Cutthroats because of her murky loyalties.
They reached the third floor and spotted several bikers in the hallway. If they had more time, they’d carefully question a few members, but she wasn’t optimistic. Voices drifted from below, and they hurried up the stairs. Mandi stopped on the fourth floor and checked the hall.
“You ready for this?”
She grabbed her gun and nodded. “Yep. Let’s find our mole.”
Mandi swung open the door, and they rushed into the hallway. Room 444 was their destination. To their surprise, the door was ajar. Motioning to Mandi, Nikita entered quickly and scanned the room for intruders. When her eyes rested on the bed, her gut dropped. Juliet lay naked with a syringe in her arm, eyes wide open, and pale white.
“Shit.” She hurried over and checked for a pulse. None found her, and Nikita shivered at the temperature of the body. “She’s been dead at least a day.”
Hunkering down, Mandi examined the wound. “She didn’t insert this.”
“How do you know?”
“The angle is all wrong.” She stood. “I’ve seen this shit before when I worked undercover in narcotics. Somebody killed her and made it look like an overdose.”
Putting away her gun for the time-being, Nikita paced. “Who? Pillar? One of her marks? It doesn’t make sense. Why would the club kill her? She put the bull’s-eye on my back in the club and fed us bullshit info.”
